


♦ Warning: Experts Only ♦

by hartwinning



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Actual Valentine's Day not V-Day, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Fix-It, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, Harry Hart Lives, Hartwin Week, M/M, Meet-Cute, SkiBunny!Harry, Snowboarder!Eggsy, no connection between Lee Unwin's death and Kingsman, they both put out minutes after meeting each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-22
Updated: 2015-08-22
Packaged: 2018-04-16 15:55:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4631241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hartwinning/pseuds/hartwinning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <br/>
  <i>One of the snowboarders looks back at Harry, and although his eyes are hidden behind gigantic mirrored goggles, his body language seems to signal an apology.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>Harry acknowledges him with a 'go ahead, I don't give a shit' tip of the chin then catches the snowboarder move his head up and down slowly, checking him out in a very blatant, deliberate once-over.</i>
</p>
<p><i>Harry rolls his eyes - they're hidden behind his own ski goggles, after all - but he puffs up his chest and stands a bit straighter nonetheless. It's been a while since someone other than himself was around to appreciate how great his arse looks in ski trousers.</i><br/><br/>~<br/><br/>Hartwin Week Day 7, <b>AU: A day on the slopes!</b><br/><br/>Ski Bunny!Harry<br/>Snowboarder!Eggsy<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	♦ Warning: Experts Only ♦

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write a lil something for Hartwin week, and it's been a million degrees and humid every day this past week in the East Coast, so I thought an Alpine setting might cool me off. Cue [this picture of Colin Firth looking adorable in a puffer coat](http://41.media.tumblr.com/ac5a1bcbcb8b5c8202c36d4895251202/tumblr_nsog06lzke1tyw41po1_500.jpg) and now here we are...
> 
> Not beta'd and not Brit-picked

 

 

**_I. Off-piste_ **

  
  
Harry clunks his way up the steps to the staging area in front of the main lift to take him up to the summit of the mountain. He sets his skis down and takes a deep breath, the cold, crisp air waking him up more thoroughly than the espresso shots he had downed in haste, hoping to get to the lift as soon as it opened.  
  
While the majority of his Kingsman colleagues prefer vacations in tropical climates, Harry circles the globe in search of fresh powder. Hokkaido in Japan, Colorado, Vermont, the California Rockies in the US, Whistler and Banff in Canada - no mountain is too remote. For Harry, summertime in England means turning down numerous offers to holiday with friends and family in seaside and coastal towns in favor of Southern Hemisphere skiing in the Andes, in Chile or Argentina. He was the only Kingsman agent who volunteered for a months-long, deep-cover mission in Alaska just for a scant few days of heli-skiing as a reward for successful completion of the mission.  

When Harry made it through training, was the last man standing for the Galahad position, he had grand visions of being chased down the slopes by baddies, dodging bullets and skiing off cliffs à la Roger Moore's James Bond -

_"But Galahad, I need you," his naked lover would plead from their fur-strewn bed._  
_"_ _So does England!" Harry would say sternly before fitting his goggles over his eyes and skiing off into perilous snow drifts to save the world._

(Okay, maybe Harry had watched  _The Spy Who Loved Me_  one too many times.) 

His fantasy never did pan out, but if there's one thing he loves more than skiing, it's being a Kingsman agent.

Harry was relieved to find that Kingsman put no restrictions on his extracurriculars. He brought it up once with his sponsor Chester King, who went off on an expansive tangent, the gist of which was that if skiing was responsible for teaching Harry discipline and control, gave him a unique set of skills, helped him maintain a higher-than-average level of fitness, and played a role in shaping Harry into someone worthy of Kingsman knighthood, then they saw no good reason why he shouldn't continue with the sport.

Harry doubted Kingsman would be equally generous if an agent's 'unique set of skills' was a result of more unsavory activities than skiing, like petty crime, for example. He kept the observation to himself though, he was more than happy to continue with his dangerous sport alongside his even more dangerous job. Not that it was much of an issue anyway; the past, current, and most likely future roster of Kingsman knights had similar backgrounds to himself - trust-fund baby do-gooders who wanted more out of life than to sit pretty and water their money trees.

For Harry's 50th birthday Merlin gifted him a pair of weaponized ski poles, but not before extracting a promise from Harry that he would never, ever use them out on the slopes. Harry took them for a test run in the firing range and the knowledge that they actually worked was enough of a consolation.  
  
The French Alps, just a short 90-minute flight away from London, are Harry's home away from home. He owns a modest, modern ski chalet (ski-on/ski-off, naturally) on the west face of one of the mountains in the Chamonix Valley. He has a special arrangement with the resort to allow Kingsman use of their medevac helipads in case Harry has to leave for an emergency mission.

Harry knows the ins and outs of the mountain, has its trail map memorized, and is the keeper of secrets on where to find the best off-piste areas. He can be a bit more reckless on the slopes since he knows the mountain so well, a fact he keeps to himself lest Kingsman change their mind about indulging him his favorite pastime.

 

**+**

  
  
Harry adjusts his goggles, steps into his bindings and bends down to flick an icy patch off the deck of his skis. He's just about to push off into the cordoned area leading down to the chairlift when suddenly someone behind him yells "FIRST CHAIR!!!" and a group of five - all of them snowboarders, probably American - jostle past him to claim the first two chairs in the three-person lift. Harry marvels at how noisy and boisterous they are for such an early hour in the morning.  
  
Harry lets them pass without making a fuss.  
  
One of the snowboarders looks back at Harry, and although his eyes are hidden behind gigantic mirrored goggles, his body language seems to signal an apology.

Harry acknowledges him with a 'go ahead, I don't give a shit' tip of the chin then catches the snowboarder move his head up and down slowly, checking him out in a very blatant, deliberate once-over.

Harry rolls his eyes - they're hidden behind his own ski goggles, after all - but he puffs up his chest and stands a bit straighter nonetheless. It's been a while since someone other than himself was around to appreciate how great his arse looks in ski trousers.  
  
Since there's barely anyone in the queue, Harry allows an empty chair to pass in between himself and the snowboarders to give them some room. He knows from experience some of them tend to be wobbly off the lift on the first run, plus with five of them they're bound to crowd around while they secure their bindings.  
  
Harry's more tolerant of snowboarding culture than many of his old-school (and old) skier peers. Compared to the millennia-old sport of skiing, snowboarding is in its infancy - only in 1998 did snowboarding become an official Olympic sport - so a culture clash is to be expected.

It only takes a handful of snowboarders living up to stereotype (they crowd around and block off the path while they sit to adjust their bindings, they ride hard and fast and jump off rocky outcroppings, often with little regard to ski etiquette, they push the snow off the mountain and ruin moguls) to give the whole lot of them a bad name. They give off a much more casual and nonchalant air than the traditional refined, some might say 'stuffy', ski resort vibe.

Needless to say, not all skiers are as willing as Harry is to share the mountain.

Harry likes having snowboarders around, he admires their youthful energy and recklessness. The halfpipe events are his favorite to watch during the Winter X Games and Olympics. He even likes their colorful, flamboyant outfits - baggy snowboarding jackets in bright garish patterns which clash with their bright, garish snowboards. Harry wouldn't be caught dead in such a getup - his own today is sleek, all black, and he's wearing his favorite Moncler puffer - but he likes the color, literal and figurative, it brings to the mountain.

Speaking of garish outfits, it's a long way to the top of the mountain and Harry's at his leisure to observe the young man from earlier, who's seated in front of Harry with the empty lift chair between them. Baggy denim snowboarding trousers, blinding white jacket with a haphazard crisscross pattern of gold stripes, and in lieu of a helmet - ah, the invincibility of youth! - he's wearing a white, thick-knit crochet beanie with ear flaps topped with a ridiculously large bright yellow fluffy pom-pom.

Harry affectionately nicknames him Egghead.  
  
As if he could feel Harry's eyes on him, Egghead turns around and gives him a wide grin and cheeky wave, which earns him another hidden eye roll from Harry and an amused half-smile. One of Egghead's companions elbows him playfully and the other laughs at him and says something, but Egghead endures their good-natured ribbing with grace.  
  
Harry gets off the lift and sees the group out of the corner of his eye, chatting loudly while they strap into their bindings at the top of one of the easier runs. Harry veers to the left where the more advanced trails are - no warm-up runs needed for him.  
  
The conditions today are fantastic, all the lifts and trails are open and Harry takes full advantage, getting in as many runs as he can before the queues for the lifts get too crowded.  
  
Harry crosses paths with Egghead only once before he breaks for lunch.

Harry's peering down a black diamond run, tracing the route he plans to take. He spies Egghead - that stupid hat is hard to miss - and his four mates, huddled just past a sharp curve. Two of them are sitting down and resting, the others are snapping photos with their phones. 

Harry tuts at them. The group can barely be seen around the curve from where he's standing, and from certain angles they're completely obscured from view. If someone heads toward them at top speed they might not have enough time to avoid a disastrous collision.

Harry's all in favor of less snobbery on the slopes but he has no tolerance for stupidity, especially when it puts others in harm's way.   
  
_Manners maketh man,_  he scolds under his breath as he kicks up a huge pile of snow and blankets the snowboarders as he expertly rounds the curve. He hears a chorus of "Oi, mate!"s and "Fuckin' wanker!"s which comes as a pleasant surprise to Harry. So the idiots are his countrymen, then.  
  
Harry slows down a bit, skids sideways to a stop and looks back at the group. He sees Egghead herding them off to a more visible area, where they would be less likely to get run over.  
  
Harry approves.  _Egg-cellent!_ He chuckles at his own joke and skis down the trail leading to the main lodge for a quick lunch break.

  
  
**+**

  
  
Harry orders a cheeseburger with a side of chips. After countless trips to this cafeteria he knows which menu items are fairly decent and which ones to avoid. By the time he reaches the till, a small side salad, a hot chocolate, and a piece of chocolate cake have joined the burger and chips on his tray.

He's just paid for his meal when he realizes he'd forgotten to use his complimentary meal ticket. Again. The resort had included a couple of meal tickets in a holiday care package sent to Harry's chalet this past Christmas as a 'thank you for your continued patronage,' and Harry's always forgetting to use them.

He eats quickly, eager to get back out on the slopes as soon as possible. The mountain empties out during lunchtime and Harry likes to take a couple of speed runs when there are fewer people on the trails.

He's on his way to dump his uneaten chips in the rubbish bin when he's accosted by a young man.

"Puis-je vous aider, monsieur?" Harry asks as the stranger blinks up at him, blocking his path to the bin.  
  
"Er, mister, ain't you gonna eat those?" the young man replies, making an eating motion with his hands and pointing to the leftover chips on Harry's tray.  
  
Harry smiles at the familiar accent. He wonders if the young man is a member of Egghead's posse.

"No, I've had my fill," Harry says, "Please, help yourself, they're very good." 

The stranger looks relieved to have found a fellow Englishman. "Fanks, mate, you're the guv'nor!"

"Oh, young man?" Harry digs around in his pocket and holds out his meal ticket, "I have a meal ticket I keep forgetting to use, it's expiring soon, it would be a shame to waste it."

_"Wicked!"_  
  
The young man thanks Harry profusely and Harry beams down at him, watches until he disappears into the adjacent dining room. 

It's nice to see some diversity for once. Harry has often observed that the only thing whiter than the snow at ski resorts is the crowd of patrons who frequents them.

Harry exits the main lodge, walks a short distance to settle his stomach, then makes his way to the café for his afternoon espresso pick-me-up before gathering his gear and heading back to the lifts.

 

**+**

  
  
Jamal hurries over to where his mates - Ryan and Eggsy from the council estate, Oliver (Ollie) and Alfie from university - nabbed a table, eager to share his loot.

Jamal sets the chips down in the middle of the table. Ollie had also been successful in his quest, and they might actually have enough chips to go around. Ryan refilled their water bottles from the drinking fountain - they're all thirsting for a pint but are saving their pennies (those lift tickets aren't cheap!) for what they hope will be several rounds of drinks later tonight.

Eggsy, their resident pickpocket, contributes a couple of apples ("Wot? Can't exactly nick a fuckin' cheeseburger now, can I?"), several bananas ("Eggsy mate I ain't touchin' those if you hid 'em in your pants!"), and from a second tour of the cafeteria - three brownies for dessert, two packs of crisps, and a bottle of Gatorade ("Why the fuck you pick the blue one, mate?").

Jamal waits until they've piled all the food in the middle of the table before presenting Harry's meal ticket with a flourish.

They clap Jamal on the back and cheer and whoop loudly, to the chagrin of the other diners.

"You're a fuckin' ledge, Jamal!" Eggsy yells.

They ignore the snooty glares thrown at them. They'd planned this trip only two weeks prior, when it became evident they'd all be pathetically single on Valentine's Day weekend. They decided to spend money on themselves rather than wining and dining and buying presents for chicks (and/or blokes, in Eggsy's case) who would only end up taking a backseat to their friendship anyway.

They drove from London to Dover, survived the ferry channel crossing and the 8-hour drive from Calais to Chamonix. It's their first time snowboarding in a proper resort (no offense, Scotland) and they're not about to let a bunch of toffs ruin their fun.

They each pitch in a few coins to make up the difference between the value of the meal ticket and the price of a whole pizza pie. They eat with gusto and feel like kings. They take shots of blue Gatorade, toasting to anti-Valentine's Day.

 

**+**

 

After agreeing on a time and place to meet up after the lifts have closed, the crew splits up after lunch.

Ollie heads to the bar to try and pull a Scandinavian beauty he has his eye on, "Whas the point o' bein' young, single, n' fit as fuck," here his friends interject to disagree vehemently - "if I can't 'ave a bit o' fun?" Alfie accompanies him as wingman.  
  
Ryan and Jamal study the trail map to figure out how to get to the terrain park, and Eggsy carries his snowboard to the gondola which will take him up the west face of the mountain, where the more advanced trails and off-piste areas are.  
  
It's a long way to the top so Eggsy studies the trail map and mulls his options. He decides on the trail furthest west, it's a double black diamond but Eggsy's sure he can handle it. It's the longest trail on this face of the mountain and if he finds it too difficult there are a couple of egresses through the glades which he could take to get to a different trail.  
  
Eggsy exits the gondola at the summit and grabs his snowboard off the rack. He walks up to a plateau and steps into his right binding (he's the only one among his crew who rides goofy) and secures it, then skates over to a small clearing just off to the side of the trail he's chosen and sits down to secure his left binding.

He snaps a selfie showcasing his jacket, it's the first time he's worn it since his mum gave it to him for Christmas. He tries to send the photo to her but he has no service up here so he pockets his phone, he'll try again later when he gets back down to the base area.

His mum had apologized to Eggsy, it wasn't the most tasteful jacket but it was the only one left in his size on the sale rack. He assured her he loved it and tackled her in a crushing hug to prove it.

His hat is, admittedly, ridiculous, but it's his own damn fault for letting his little half-sister Daisy pick one out for him. His mum, traitor that she was, had grabbed it quickly and paid for it before he could convince Daisy to pick something else. The stupid thing is incredibly warm, though, he'll give it that, it's lined with fleece so it keeps his head nice and toasty. At least his friends can spot him easily, as they love to point out.

As Eggsy tightens his bindings he sees who he thinks is the posh bloke from this morning getting off the gondola. The skier stops at the top of one of the other trails and bends down to fiddle with his skis, giving Eggsy a prime view, and yup, it's definitely him. He recognizes  _dat ass_ , it was the first thing he saw coming up on the lift for his first run of the day. 

The skier pauses to survey the scene. Eggsy remains seated for a few minutes to admire the view, not of the snow-capped mountains as far as the eye could see, but of the skier's long legs and sleek, slim-fitting outfit. Shiny black quilted puffer with a hood - Eggsy recognizes the patch on the jacket as one of those uber-expensive brands. There's nothing flashy or ostentatious about the man yet he stands out. Eggsy can sort of see now why someone might be compelled to spend such an obscene amount of money on a jacket.

Mr. Mystery Skier is a walking advertisement for the fancy brand. He looks sharp and lethal, ready to pounce, like a panther. A modern-day knight in shiny puffer, a James Bond on the slopes, Eggsy decides.

Eggsy had gone through his da's VHS collection of 70s- and 80s-era Bond films and vividly recalls the opening sequence of  _A View to Kill -_ Roger Moore decked out in a ridiculous all-white fur-trimmed Bogner outfit, fashioning the ski foot of a malfunctioning snowmobile into a snowboard to escape the baddies. It was Eggsy's first introduction to the sport. 

Eggsy lets out a dreamy sigh. If the mystery skier is James Bond then Eggsy volunteers to be his Bond girl.

He's been gaggin' for it way too long, hasn't had a decent shag in ages. Kinda tough when you haven't got a steady job and you're still living with your mum and arsehole stepdad. Still, he has the occasional furtive quickie, handie or blowie in public loos and dark alleyways, and once in a blue moon he gets lucky and someone's flatmate isn't home  _wink, wink_. He had a pleasant couple of dates with a chick his mum had set him up with recently, but truth be told there probably isn't going to be a third date.

What he really misses is the sensation of being filled, a nice thick cock shoved down his throat or up his arse.

Eggsy shakes his head.  _What the actual fuck_. He's about to go on his most challenging run of the day and here he is sporting a half-stiffy.

Eggsy gathers his wits about him and hops over to the top of the trail and looks down.  _Shit that's steep._  He takes a deep breath, psyches himself up, and ollies onto the trail.  
  
After the first few slow, careful, wide turns Eggsy relaxes. He eases himself into a confident rhythm of quick, alternating toe-side and heel-side turns, forming narrow S shapes and picking up speed. He yelps in delight, the adrenaline kicking in.

A quarter of the way down Eggsy slams on the brakes on his heel edge and stares down the slope with a look of dismay on his face. Moguls, moguls as far as the eye can see -  _ah, fuck_ , they go all the way down the trail.

Eggsy doesn't like moguls, he's never mastered them and never had much interest in learning how to. It looks cool and all but his spine hurts just watching skiers do moguls. He goes off to the side, maneuvers his way as best he can around the first three or four moguls until he finds an opening into the glades.

_Fuck yeah!_ Eggsy loves glades, those he can do _._  He winds a path around the trees, all the way across the wooded area and comes out onto a different, mogul-free trail. He pauses to admire the scenery and takes a few more selfies, it really is beautiful out here. He tries to send a text to his mates telling them he's pretty much got the entire side of the mountain to himself, but he still doesn't have cellular service. He makes a mental note to pick up a few cheap walkie-talkie sets for their next snowboarding trip, which Eggsy is already planning to have more of, he's having the time of his life right now.

Eggsy takes advantage of the sparsely populated pistes, playing off the features along the side of the trail, practicing his spins and riding switch, performing tricks he's hesitant to do when there are other skiers and boarders he might collide with. 

He sees a lovely mound of snow up ahead and gathers speed to make the jump. He catches air, clears a frontside 180, even manages a tailgrab at the end of it. He gives a loud, self-congratulatory whoop! even though no one's around to witness his stunt.

He slows down to catch his breath after landing the 180 and realizes too late that he hasn't picked up enough speed to get him through a very long, very flat traverse up ahead.  
  
_Fuck me_. Eggsy hates traverses, they're the reason he avoids the easier trails. They're everywhere - ski resorts are designed for skiers, of course, who have ski poles to push off of in the flats. 

Eggsy glides along the traverse as far as his stored momentum can take him, and as he begins to slow down he knows he's not going to make it all the way across.  
  
Eggsy sighs, resigned. He glides along, almost to a full stop now, and is about to bend down to unstrap his left binding so that he can skate the rest of the way when he spots a skier in the periphery. He holds off unstrapping his binding, hopeful as he watches the skier approach.  
  
Sure enough, the skier -  _fuck yes_ , it's the James Bond bloke! - catches up to Eggsy and holds out the end of a ski pole for Eggsy to grab onto, then pulls him along the rest of the flat section. When they near the end of the traverse where the terrain dips into a steep curve, James Bond tugs on his ski pole and slows down to drag Eggsy in front of him then gives him a little push, and just like that Eggsy's on his way again. 

Knight in shiny puffer, indeed! Eggsy thanks James Bond with a backwards wave, a wide grin plastered on his face.  
  
The skier overtakes him - fuckin' show off, but Eggsy loves it - he skis like a pro, so gracefully, it's a pleasure to watch. Eggsy has no clue where he is since he abandoned his original plan on account of the moguls, so he follows the skier, or more accurately, dat ass, down the mountain.  
  
James Bond leads Eggsy through several advanced-level trails, and Eggsy manages to keep up, just barely. He's concentrating so hard he doesn't even notice the steadily decreasing number of ski resort and trail name signage and the absence of other skiers and snowboarders.  
  
Eggsy follows James Bond into the glades, and Eggsy finds it easier to weave through the trees with the skier tracing a path in front of him. If James Bond hadn't gone before him, Eggsy would have missed the high jump to exit the glades and landed flat on his bum, but as it is he's prepared for it. Eggsy bends his knees, clears the jump with a loud, resounding  _"F_ _UCK YEEEAAAAAH!!!"_ and lands in fresh, untouched, ungroomed powder.

Eggsy's in heaven.

They're off-piste now. Eggsy doesn't have much experience snowboarding in deep powder but he's watched enough YouTube videos to know to keep the nose of his snowboard up, otherwise he'd get buried and he'd have to dig himself out. Once he gets used to the adjustment he really goes for it - starts carving through the snow in graceful S formations, mimicking James Bond in front of him and kicking up an arc of snow with every toe-side turn.

Eggsy gives another loud gleeful yelp.  
  
If Eggsy makes it down the trail in one piece - not a guarantee with the fucking daredevil show-off he's been following - he has it in mind to thank James Bond for the most exhilarating ride of his life. Until Eggsy rides  _him_ , that is.

Eggsy prays to the gods that James Bond is the type who'd let him.

  
  
_**II. Après-ski** _

 

Harry slows down when he spies the familiar hidden entrance through the glades to the path leading up to his ski chalet. He stops a few meters away from the boundary marking his private driveway.  
  
He thought he heard a few loud yelps behind him, but he didn't realize that Egghead had actually followed him the entire way home.

Harry's impressed, the path to his chalet is intentionally difficult, it's for advanced skiers and experts only.  
  
Egghead stops about a meter away from Harry and rests on his heel edge. He seems to have lost his flirtatious bravado from this morning.  
  
They stare at each other through their goggles.  
  
Harry sighs. He plants his ski poles into the snow to free up his hands and unclips the chin strap of his helmet. Then he lifts both helmet and goggles off his head, shaking his hair out before running a gloved hand through it to try and tame his curls.

He fixes Egghead with a curious stare.

"You followed me here," Harry says, "Why?"

 

**+**

  
  
_Fuckin' hell._ Eggsy's brain short-circuits.

James Bond is fit as  _fuck._  Movie star good looks, fluffy wavy hair, dark brown eyes which are staring Eggsy down, not unkindly, but with curiosity and maybe a touch of amusement. Early fifties, Eggsy guesses, and if physical attraction were an exact science maybe Eggsy could spit out some formula which would explain why that gets him so hot n' bothered, but since it isn't he'll just chalk it up to 'je ne sais quoi' and let trained professionals psychoanalyze the shit out of that. And his voice! As clear and crisp as the cold mountain air.

Eggsy feels the blush creeping down his throat and hopes that he's flushed from exertion so that it won't be too noticeable. He's glad he's kept his goggles on, at least he can hide his embarrassment.

James Bond lifts his eyebrows at Eggsy expectantly, still awaiting an answer.  
  
_Shit_.

Eggsy could tell the truth, that he's lost and has no clue how to get back to the main lodge, but his traitorous mind draws a blank. His brain fails to form proper sentences and instead leaves Eggsy with a bit of dodgy poetry.

Eggsy takes a deep breath,  _oh well, carpe diem, here goes nuffin'_  and starts half reciting, half rapping -

_"Mate you is fine,_  
_Dat ass is divine,_  
_It's finer than wine,  
_ _Got flawless design."_

James Bond blinks at Eggsy, his mouth hangs open and words seem to have deserted him.

Eggsy continues, too late now for a graceful retreat -

_"Mate you is fine,_  
_Dat smile's benign,_  
_Yo teeth got some shine,  
_ _Imma take you to dine."_

Eggsy gets really into it, starts beatboxing in between stanzas.

_"Mate you is fine,_  
_You's at least a 9,_  
_Imma make you a sign  
_ _Dat says 'Please Be Mine.'"_

James Bond bites his lip and looks down, trying to hide his smile. Then he looks up to the heavens as if asking what on earth he did to deserve this torture.

_"Mate you is fine,_  
_Them stars are aligned,_  
_So I think it is time,  
_ _Please be my Valentine."_

 

**+**

  
  
Harry's chuckling, a hand over his mouth, and he dissolves into laughter at the long-awaited conclusion to the poem. He clutches his stomach, leans into the laugh, and loses his balance, his helmet and goggles flying off and rolling down the path.

"Shit!"

Eggsy tries to break Harry's fall but he's still strapped into his snowboard so they both tumble into the snow.

"Fuck!"

They both groan quietly for a moment before bursting into laughter. Eggsy rotates his snowboard and rolls off Harry and they lie on their backs, side-by-side, staring up at the canopy of snow-covered branches.

Harry turns his face toward Eggsy and extends out a hand, "Harry Hart."

Eggsy shakes his hand despite the awkward angle, "Eggsy Unwin, pleased ta meet ya." Eggsy's disappointed Harry didn't say, 'Hart, Harry Hart' but at least now he can stop referring to him as James Bond.

"Eggy?" Harry can hardly believe the nickname he christened Eggsy with - Egghead - is so close to his actual name. 

"Nah, bruv - Egg-sy."

They're still lying on the ground, shoulders almost touching, heads turned to face each other. 

The corners of Harry's mouth twitch and his eyes travel to Eggsy's hat.

Apparently Eggsy catches the look - Harry can't really tell, Eggsy still has his goggles on. "Oi, fuck off, mate," he says defensively and elbows Harry lightly in the ribs.

Harry giggles. Christ, if he continues to be so fucking adorable Eggsy might just snowboard himself off the nearest cliff.

Harry shifts to lie on his side and props himself up on his elbow. "May I?" he asks and motions to his goggles.

Eggsy nods and Harry carefully slides his goggles up over his eyes and rests them just above Eggsy's forehead.

Harry cocks his head. "Mmm," he hums, pleased at the treasure he's literally stumbled upon. He openly admires Eggsy's greeny-blue eyes and strong jaw, a beauty mark right under his chin that's just barely visible above his jacket.

Eggsy thanks his mum silently for his waterproof jacket. Harry's warm, approving gaze is enough to melt the snow around him. The temperature outdoors is well below freezing but Eggsy's burnin' up a fever.

"Eggsy, would you like to come inside for a cup of tea?" Harry asks, voice low and seductive, brown eyes twinkling with mischief.

"Ain't gonna say no to a cuppa, bruv, but I'm here for the sex," Eggsy replies with a cheeky wink.

Harry doesn't miss a beat, "What happened to dining me and making obscenely large 'please be mine' signs?"

Eggsy grins. "Valentine's Day ain't 'til tomorrow, bruv."  _  
_

Eggsy bends his knees then lifts up his hips while pushing off his hands to get himself off the ground and into an upright position. His mates call it his '[Steve Rogers move](http://33.media.tumblr.com/13ecf1760f7c46c51d6dc4cb994fa653/tumblr_n2f25xP0pf1rusn31o2_500.gif)' but it's actually just a remnant from his gymnastics days. He unstraps both snowboard bindings and helps Harry to his feet.

Harry's skis have long since popped off and he gathers them and his ski poles neatly in one arm and picks up his helmet and goggles with his other hand.

"Come along, Eggsy." 

 

**+**

 

Eggsy doesn't know much about ski chalets but he recognizes wealth when he sees it.

Harry's house isn't in the traditional Swiss chalet style; it's modern and minimal, influenced by Scandinavian design if Eggsy had to take a guess. Most of the walls are floor-to-ceiling glass panes which look directly out into the woods, and yeah, okay, Eggsy's got a few questions regarding that particular design choice (although if Harry turns out to be an exhibitionist this would not be unwelcome news to Eggsy).

There are solar panels blending seamlessly into the sloping roof and a Tesla Powerwall home battery mounted along the far end of an open garage, where a silver tone Mercedes G-Class SUV is parked.

Eggsy's experiencing sensory overload and he takes a couple of deep breaths to calm himself down.

He leans his snowboard up against a wooden rack after seeing Harry do the same with his skis.

They stomp the snow off their boots and Eggsy follows Harry into a small entrance hall, outfitted with ski storage racks, coat hooks, and sturdy square shelving to hold boots, hats, and gloves.

Harry excuses himself for a moment and hides behind a door to unzip his ski jacket and shrug off his gun holster. If he had his way Harry wouldn't need to hide like this but Merlin can be such a difficult twat sometimes -

_"No, Harry, those weaponized ski poles were a gift, a novelty item, not a production unit and certainly not a viable substitute for your gun holster when you're skiing. Stop bloody asking me!"_

Eggsy does a double-take when Harry returns to the hall to hang up his jacket and help Eggsy out of his.

Harry had peeled off his top layers down to a thin, wool turtleneck. ( _"A tactleneck!"_  Eggsy's brain supplies helpfully in Sterling Archer's voice). It looks so much like the one Daniel Craig's wearing in the teaser [poster](https://pbs.twimg.com/media/CAUISw8WAAA-O9O.jpg) for the upcoming James Bond flick that at this point Eggsy would be very surprised and mildly disappointed if Harry was not, in fact, a gentleman spy. All that's missing is the gun holster. Harry's even got the movie-star-spy physique down, the tactleneck doing little to hide his pecs and trim waist.

They share a laugh while they both struggle to get their boots off, followed by their trousers, the tech fabric making loud swishing noises as they pull them off.

Eggsy's surprised at how comfortable he is around Harry. Maybe Harry's old enough to have outgrown all of his awkward phases. 

They share another laugh at the picture they must make, both wearing thermal leggings, similar in style except Eggsy's are faded and fraying, and bright colored socks. Eggsy insists on a photo. He snaps one from above, looking down at their sock-clad feet, at Harry's Union Jack ski socks and Eggsy's extra-thick snowboarding ones, standing astride their respective ski and snowboarding boots.

"Bugger," Eggsy mutters. It's a fantastic photo, #nofilter needed, he'll just have to #latergram it when he finally gets cell reception.

Harry arches an eyebrow at Eggsy. "Shower?" 

"Shower," Eggsy agrees, in mutual understanding stemming from shared experience of being stuck in a room full of sweaty athletes fresh off the field or the gym after hours of strenuous activity.

 

**+**

 

Harry escorts Eggsy to the bathroom, waving vaguely at the amenities and architectural details of each room that they pass. Given the remote location of Harry's property (and the state of the art surveillance system, which Eggsy doesn't know about), it's hardly a trade-off between privacy and the stunning view of the landscape through the floor-to-ceiling windows, but it's one Eggsy would be willing to make too, if he could afford a place like this.

Harry bustles them into a large, airy bathroom, which has exposed wooden beams in the high ceilings and glass pane walls, portions of which are frosted.

Eggsy spies a large tub in one corner with what he's pretty sure are jacuzzi jets but Harry directs him to a wide shower stall instead. He slides the glass door open and turns on the rainfall shower head, sticks his hand under the stream until the temperature's to his liking.

He beckons to Eggsy, never breaking eye contact to gauge Eggsy's level of comfort with the whole 'Hey I just met you, wanna fuck?' situation. 

Eggsy reassures him with a smile. He had entrusted himself to Harry's care from the very beginning. 

It's one of those things Eggsy can't even begin to make sense of, let alone explain; all he knows is that he's never felt this safe and at ease around anyone else, least of all a stranger. He'd grown up distrustful of everyone, he built walls around himself and kept his defenses up. The few minutes he's spent in Harry's company are a rare instance in which he thinks himself worthy of being treated with care and deference. 

Eggsy strips off his final top layer, breaking eye contact only when the t-shirt goes over his head, then tugs off his thermal leggings and steps boldly into Harry's arms. 

Harry's eyes are dark with lust. He places his hands lightly on Eggsy's lower waist and bends down to nuzzle at Eggsy's neck. Harry's nose just barely brushes his skin but each feather-light touch sends intense shivers down Eggsy's spine. He inhales deeply and trembles when he exhales. 

Harry gently spins Eggsy around so he's facing the shower stall and nudges him forward. His hands linger on Eggsy's waist and Eggsy feels a kiss on the top of his sweaty head.

"I'll be right back," Harry says softly into his ear, "take your time."

Eggsy arches his back to look up at Harry, who's just about tall enough to bend his head forward and give Eggsy an upside-down Spiderman kiss.

Harry goes to the living room and picks up his phone. He doesn't particularly care how Merlin managed to install fiber optic cables leading up to his chalet - he's witnessed too many things which can only be explained by Harry Potter-levels of wizardry from Merlin over the years - but he's forever grateful for the Wi-Fi.

 

_Merlin, need your expertise_

_Eggsy Unwin, London, mid-20s_

 

  
_No Eggsy Unwin on record_

_but there is a Gary Unwin_

_25 yrs old_

_Olympic gymnast material at one point_

_A couple of ASBOs on record_

_Some petty theft charges_

_Royal Marines, exceptional performance_

_but quit halfway through??_

_Is this him?_

_Is everything all right, Harry?_

_Where on earth did you find him?_

 

_Everything's grand, Merlin_

   

_Need medical records please_

 

_____ Christ, Harry _

 

____

 

_He checks out_

_You scoundrel_

 

_Can I  him??_

 

_OH FOR FUCK'S SAKE_

_Inappropriate use of company resources!!!_

_ _

_But yes it appears so_

_Safety, please, Harry!!_

_About time though, eh, Har?_

_Get in, you old dog!!!_

_Be gentle with the poor lad, aye?_

 

_ _

 

So Eggsy's got a rap sheet but it's the 'Olympic gymnast material' bit that Harry latches onto, not surprising since he's thinking with his dick and not his brain at the moment. 

The stint with the Royal Marines certainly explains the physique.

As for the rest, well, water under the bridge, Harry can sort that out later if it becomes relevant. Maybe spanking will be involved.

 

**+**

 

Eggsy has no idea how long Harry will be gone for so he strokes himself lazily, trying to relieve some of the pent-up frustration that's been building for months. It's a rather futile attempt since Harry is the only thing that will sate him right now.

Finally Eggsy hears the glass doors slide open. It's as if the shower stall is as wide as a ski trail with how long it takes for Harry to come up behind Eggsy. As soon as Eggsy feels the warmth radiating off Harry, Eggsy leans back into Harry's chest, feels the promising weight of Harry's dick.  

"Sorry to interrupt," Harry says, teasing.

"Psshhh, no you ain't," Eggsy says groggily, lifting both arms up and hooking them behind Harry's neck.

Harry takes the hint, pumps a generous amount of his Moroccan argan oil lotion into his palm, reaches around and picks up where Eggsy left off. It doesn't take long to finish him off, the unfamiliar sensation of Harry's large hands, long fingers, and callused palms wrapped around Eggsy's cock bringing him over the edge in under a minute.

It's a soapy, slippery mess after that, with the two of them sabotaging the other's attempts to actually get clean. Eggsy volleys between being mildly affronted and incredibly aroused at how easily Harry manhandles him, and Eggsy gets his revenge when he discovers Harry's numerous ticklish spots.

 

**+**

 

Eggsy's lounging naked on Harry's settee in front of the fireplace, having discarded the fluffy towel Harry had bundled him in as soon as they got out of the shower.

Eggsy gasps when he sees a Wi-Fi network available. " 'arry, babes, what's your Wi-Fi password?"

Harry rattles off a very long alphanumeric string with such practiced ease,  _only a spy would be able to do that_ , Eggsy thinks, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. He realizes he never asked Harry what he did for a living.

Eggsy fires off a group text, sneaking in a photo of the fireplace with the barest glimpse of Harry's broad, muscled back-

 

  _from this morning_

 

_DONT WAIT UP!!!_

 

Eggsy grins and shuts off his phone.

He sits in a mild daze, gazing at Harry while he prods the kindling and stokes the fire, wearing nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist. Eggsy takes in his tall, lithe frame, no tattoos  _(Hah! That's totally in the spy handbook, innit? No identifying marks)_  but his body is littered with oddly-shaped scars and discolorations, as if patches of skin had healed from various injuries at different times.

Eggsy stands up, walks over to Harry and pulls him into a tight hug from behind, not caring that it's a gesture more appropriate for couples on a much higher level of intimacy. The skin-to-skin contact feels amazing, Eggsy never wants to let go. Harry belongs in his arms.

Eggsy breathes him in, rubs his nose along a scar between Harry's ribs - christ, someone was definitely going for a fatal lung puncture there.

"This house is fuckin' ace, bruv."

"I'm very glad you approve, Eggsy, I plan on fucking you on every available surface in it."

Eggsy chuckles, squeezes him tighter if that were even possible. "Fuckin' hell, 'arry. Where d'ya come off sayin' things like tha' wif a straight face?" _  
_

Apparently first stop on the fuck tour is the area right in front of the fireplace. They move the coffee table to the side, pile on every cushion within arm's reach. Harry practically empties out his linen closet, dumping pillows and down-filled comforters onto the pile.

Eggsy's so handsy and fidgety that Harry has to physically still him, with both hands cradling Eggsy's face, when he goes in for a long, tender kiss.

"Sorry," Eggsy says shyly when they break apart for some air. He can't remember the last time he shared a kiss like that, maybe he never has. Kissing like a nymphomaniac on death row isn't exactly his modus operandi during his hurried trysts in dark alleyways behind pubs.

Harry hushes him and drops the towel to the ground before pushing Eggsy down onto their roofless pillow fort.

Eggsy feels like he's melting into a marshmallow, with Harry a solid, reassuring weight on top of him. He kisses Eggsy everywhere, thoroughly, and just like their brief time in the slopes together, Eggsy feels like he's barely keeping up.

Harry takes his sweet time preparing Eggsy.

Eggsy thinks he can send those psychoanalysts home now, he can pinpoint exactly why a fifty-year-old bloke gets him so hot and bothered, and it's got all to do with Harry being a v-e-r-y experienced gentleman. He knows what to do with those long-fingered hands, knows how and where to crook his fingers  _just so,_ knows exactly when Eggsy - a panting, sweaty, LOUD (it's the first time Eggsy's been fucked without having to worry about the neighbors or flatmates or passers-by and he takes full advantage) mess - is finally at his breaking point and Harry pauses the proceedings to slip on a condom and lube up.

Harry's full, throbbing length inside him is everything Eggsy's dreamt about and more. At this point the only word he can manage (over and over and over again) is Harry's name, so he pantomimes his desire to sit on top of Harry, and Harry obliges.

Eggsy takes so long sitting still, just reveling in the sensation of being breached, being filled - fucking finally! - that Harry gets impatient and takes matters into his own hands, sitting up while still deep inside Eggsy, then throwing Eggsy on his back, folding him in half, and fucking him into the pillows.

Eggsy comes so hard with Harry still inside him, he promptly falls asleep a few moments after he feels Harry pull out. He doesn't even stir when Harry applies a warm, wet towel to clean him off.

 

**+**

 

When Eggsy regains consciousness it's to the smell of mulled wine. The fire's gone out but it's still warm in Harry's house. He wraps a duvet around himself and walks over to a window to admire the stars and the enveloping blackness of the surrounding woods. 

His stomach lets out a rumbling noise and he follows his nose to the kitchen.

He pauses at the entryway to the kitchen and watches Harry prepare dinner. He's clothed, which Eggsy pouts at, but he's adorable in his worn-in jumper, cashmere  _(really, Harry?)_  drawstring trackies, and sheepskin slippers.

Harry looks up to see Eggsy, dressed in his duvet-slash-toga, flushed from sleep, dark blond hair sticking out in all directions. Love bites all over his body - Harry cringes at the particularly dark purple mark on Eggsy's throat.  _Oops_ , Harry got a little carried away with Eggsy's beauty mark.

Harry's heart aches.  _Can I keep him? I'd very much like to keep him_. Harry looks on in amazement as the young man sidles up to him and gives him another crushing hug from behind, plants a kiss on his shoulder with a loud "Mwah!" 

_How on earth did I get so lucky,_ Harry thinks to himself.

Aloud he says, "Careful, darling, it's very hot."

"Mmm, smells amazing, bruv."

They eat a simple meal of steak and roasted potatoes and drink the entire saucepan's worth of mulled wine.

Harry pauses once to correct Eggsy's grip on his cutlery - "You're not a convict, Eggsy, no one's going to steal your food," and they chat comfortably.

"So, 'arry, whaddya do for a livin'? Must be pre'ey good if you can afford a place like this."

"Well the money's mostly from judicious investment of a decades-old trust fund," Harry concedes, "but I'm a tailor, I work at a shop on Savile Row. Perhaps you've heard of it - Kingsman Tailors?"

Eggsy covers up his mouth with his napkin when he laughs, nearly choking on his steak. 

"I've never met a tailor before, but I know you ain't one."

Harry doesn't contradict him, he merely deflects and turns the topic of conversation to Eggsy. Eggsy doesn't call him out on it, simply adds another line to his running checklist entitled 'Harry Hart, Gentleman Spy (Who Loved Me).'

Harry waits until Eggsy brings up his gymnastics and Royal Marines training on his own before prodding him gently for more details.

Harry learns that Eggsy's father had died during his own Royal Marine Commando Training.

"Mum tried to sue, but ya know how 'tis, she didn't stand a chance."

Harry nods sympathetically. He recalls a similar release of liability form he had to sign during his own training for Kingsman. He thought it exceedingly brave that not only had Eggsy signed up for the same training course in which is father had died, but that he had excelled in it up until he quit.

They clear the dishes after dinner, re-heat some of the mulled wine and bring steaming cups of it into the living room, where Harry builds another fire. They chat in front of the fireplace until the embers die out then head upstairs to the master's to get ready for bed.

After a quick rinse under the rainfall shower and after Harry replaces the head of his electric toothbrush for Eggsy to use - "You can have the pink one!" Eggsy looks up at Harry demurely, blinks innocently, and asks what's for dessert.

"Well, since you asked so nicely," Harry says breathily, unlacing his drawstring, acquiescing in Eggsy's request for Harry to fuck his face.

And so they give the nocturnal forest creatures a good show through one of the big windows, Harry threading his fingers through Eggsy's before positioning their hands behind Eggsy's head to keep him in place and to prevent him from touching himself.

Harry, being the gentleman that he is, returns the favor and gives Eggsy a blow job, although it ends up not being much of a job at all, Eggsy comes as soon as Harry swallows his entire length in one go.

 

**+**

 

"Fuck!!"

Eggsy can't get out of bed. His bum hurts, his hamstrings hurt, his knees hurt.

"Harry!!!" he bellows. Also his throat hurts.

Several minutes pass before Harry walks into the bedroom, spatula in hand, a look of alarm on his handsome face. "Is everything all right, Eggsy?"

"Bruv, I can't move! Dunno 'ow I'm supposed to snowboard back to base lodge."

Harry breathes a sigh of relief, "Oh is that all, my dear boy? I'll give you a ride down, you can take the shuttle back to the main lodge. It's what I usually do, except I ski down to the shuttle."

"Harry..." Eggsy whines and holds out his hands.

"All right Eggsy, hush now," Harry says indulgently. He picks up Eggsy bridal style -  _hmm, wow, so much strength,_ and Eggsy adds another line to his growing 'Harry is totally a spy' checklist - and carries him to the bathroom. He prepares a bath for Eggsy and turns on the jacuzzi jets.

" _YES_ , Harry!"

The bath and massage help, a lot, and Eggsy just about manages to hobble around the chalet. It's still early, and when Eggsy turns his phone back on - ignoring his mates' text messages from last night, basically a handbook of 101 ways to draw penises with emojis - Eggsy learns that they've just woken up after a long night of partying and they're about to head down to the hotel dining room for a late breakfast before heading out to the slopes.

Harry breaks the news to him that there's an urgent matter at work (Eggsy winks at him knowingly, "'Tailoring' accident, bruv?") and that he has to fly back to London later this afternoon.

Harry gives Eggsy a lift in his Mercedes back to his hotel to meet up with his mates.

"Enjoy the rest of your weekend with your friends, Eggsy, I'll see you when you get back to London."

Suddenly Eggsy feels very shy, has a creeping sensation that he's being discarded. "Will you really call, Harry?" he cringes at how whiny and desperate he sounds.

"Eggsy, look at me, and listen closely," Harry commands from the driver's seat, "You are exceptional, bright, funny, and fucking gorgeous. You're half my age yet you don't seem to give a shit, and you can bend your legs over your ears.  _Of course I'm going to fucking call you_ , don't be a bloody idiot."

Eggsy grins.  _I FUCKING LOVE YOU, HARRY HART._

 

**+**

 

Eggsy's back in London by Wednesday, faffing about as he's wont to do, having slept all morning and through most of the afternoon.

Seeing how men like Harry lived somehow brings urgency to his need to make something of himself, carve out a better life for his family, Dean not included, _fanks very much_. He has no idea how, though. Back at the ski chalet Harry had encouraged him to give the Marines another shot, he had done so well during those four months of training. Eggsy had confided in Harry how the Marines had given him a sense of purpose and direction, how heartbroken he was when his mum had called in a panic, forcing him to end his training.

Speaking of, Harry has yet to return any of his texts from last night. Eggsy shrugs it off, he's not particularly worried, they'd Skyped several times throughout the weekend. 

He finally gets a call from Harry around 8 pm that evening, but it's not what he expects.

"Harry, babe, I miss you so much, can I come over?" Eggsy says. 

"Hello, Eggsy, I miss you too," Harry says, haltingly, in a strange tone.

Eggsy's heart sinks. "Harry... whatsa matter?"

Harry sighs on the other end of the line and there's a long pause. "Eggsy, how would you like to embark on the most dangerous job interview in the world?"

Eggsy doesn't reply for a minute.

"What the fuck is goin' on, 'arry?"

"Eggsy, I'm offering you the opportunity to become a Kingsman."

"Tailor?" 

"A Kingsman agent," Harry corrects.

Eggsy pulls up his mental checklist, "Like a spy?"

"Of sorts... interested?"

Eggsy grins, "You think I've got anything to lose?"

"Meet me at the tailor shop on Savile Row."

 

  
**_III. Double black diamond_ **

 

"Shit," Harry swears, falling on his ass for the hundredth time that morning. "I hate this!" he yells to anyone who will listen.

He leans his snowboard rental on his heel edge and props himself up on his elbows just in time to see Eggsy glide down the bunny hill in skis. He's managing to stay upright but his form is atrocious.

Eggsy catches sight of Harry on the ground and throws up his arms. "This is boring as fuck, bruv!" 

"Can we just agree never to have a switch day again?" Harry says. He releases his bindings and stands up, and whacks the snow off his bum. He thanks his young snowboarding instructor and tips her generously. She had been very patient with him, and if she thought such an old git had no business on a snowboard, she never let on.

Eggsy's about to concur, he's dying to get back on a snowboard, when a little girl calls out his name.

"Eggy, lookit!!"

Both Harry and Eggsy look up to see Daisy in her own little skis glide down the bunny hill, fearless and confident as only tiny tots with maneuvering of gravities very close to the ground can be, in between Roxy's much longer skis. Roxy holds up her hands to show them that she's not even supporting Daisy, the little girl is maneuvering down the hill on her own.

Harry and Eggsy clap and cheer like a couple of embarrassingly proud papas.

"Aww, look at 'er go, 'arry! Can't wait 'til next year when she's old enough to snowboard!" Eggsy says, grabbing Harry's arm and laying his head down on Harry's shoulder.

Harry narrows his eyes into slits, "She's doing very well on skis. If she keeps at it and focuses on the sport, maybe she can even go pro one day," he says pointedly.

"She should at least try both to see which one she prefers," Eggsy retorts.

They glare at each other until they get pummeled with a pile of snow.

"Oi! Who da fuck -"

It's Merlin, of course, on a snowboard, no less. Eggsy gives him a high five - Merlin had picked up snowboarding way too easily for a 52-year-old who does nothing but sit in front of a computer screen all day (or so he would have everyone believe). 

Harry rolls his eyes. He makes a mental note to tell Merlin never to gift Eggsy with any customized snowboards. Not even Harry's good enough on skis to put a stop to the death trap that would be Eggsy on the slopes, riding a rocket launched, weaponized snowboard.

Harry picks Daisy up and puts his arm around Roxy - his two favorite ski bunnies! - and the five of them walk to the lodge for a well-deserved, overpriced cafeteria lunch.

 

**+**

 

Eggsy barely makes it to the last call for the gondola heading up the west face of the mountain. He should really talk to Harry about convincing the powers that be to open up some of the trails for night skiing, it seems such a waste to end the day just because the sun is setting. Eggsy's got a couple more runs left in him.

Everyone else is back at Harry's chalet already. Harry and Merlin are preparing dinner (JB probably hot on their heels for scraps) and Roxy's babysitting Daisy.

Eggsy would be delighted if Daisy grew up to be even half the woman Roxy is, so he gives the two of them as much alone time as he can. Roxy herself doesn't want kids even though she's great with them; whether her decision was influenced by Richmond Valentine's desperate attempt to save the planet, Eggsy doesn't know. It's not his call so he doesn't pry. 

Eggsy reflects on how different his life was just two years ago, almost to the day. Harry is adamant about not letting the name 'Richmond Valentine' cloud their Valentine's Day anniversary. Eggsy shudders at the memory of how close they were to not having an anniversary at all.

 

**+**

 

The 24 hours following Eggsy's failure to shoot JB were the worst of Eggsy's life. He had disappointed the one person he loved more than anyone else, had blown the one chance he'd been given to make something of himself.

Harry had left in a huff. He'd gone off to Chamonix after leaving Eggsy with a few choice, angry words. What Harry didn't tell Eggsy was that he had gone skiing to clear his head, to come up with a plan for Eggsy to join Kingsman in some other way. Chester King had been Harry's sponsor, his mentor, there must be some way he could convince him to keep Eggsy on. The boy was smart, maybe he could be trained as a handler. In all honesty it was a very small chance, Chester King was a snob who looked down on Eggsy and his ilk, but Eggsy was worth the effort.

Skiing was Harry's solace, and his temper had mostly ebbed by the time he reached his chalet. 

Eggsy left Harry's house, and in a desperate move went to the tailor shop to speak with Arthur. He'd beg and plead the old toff for a place in Kingsman. Even if he wasn't a full agent maybe he could help Merlin out, be a backup agent, or an understudy, anything. He didn't know what, exactly, he could hope for but he knew he had to fix things before Harry got back.

Eggsy walked into the dining room just in time to catch the end of the feed from Kentucky being broadcast on the screen above the fireplace mantle.

Kingsman had pawned off the intelligence they gathered on Richmond Valentine to their American affiliates when they overheard him telling Gazelle they'd be running a test out in a church in Kentucky.

Arthur, Merlin, the newly-inducted Lancelot, and Eggsy watched in horror as Richmond Valentine explained the technology behind his human culling plan before pulling the trigger on the American agent.

"We should drink a toast to our fallen comrade in America." 

"I thought that tradition was reserved for British agents," Eggsy said suspiciously.

Then he saw the scar in the back of Arthur's neck.

 

**+**  

 

His thoughts were with Harry as he stared down the row of endless guards, coming at him from every corner, Princess Tilde banging on the reinforced door behind him.

"Merlin, I'm fucked. Roxy, I need a favor. Call my mum, tell her to lock herself away from Dean, and the baby. Tell her I love her."

Eggsy closed his eyes, pictured Harry's ski chalet, the roaring fire, Harry looking down on him on their pillow fort.

"And Merlin, tell Harry I love him."

"Tell him yourself, Eggsy!"

Eggsy opened his eyes to see Galahad round the corner, wreaking havoc on the row of guards, Lancelot close behind him.

Merlin had finally gotten in contact with Harry, who had quickly commandeered a plane and flew to Valentine's lair in the remote area of the Komi Republic, stopping by to pick up Lancelot on the way.

Eggsy was rooted to the spot, too mesmerized by Harry's graceful, lethal movements as he laid waste to row upon row of guards. He had never had the privilege of watching Harry fight.

Merlin's voice in his comms snapped him back to attention, "Go, Eggsy! You have to stop Valentine! Galahad and Lancelot will cover you!" Then he added as an afterthought, "Get us out alive Eggsy, and I'll forward you Galahad's showreel."

The traitor VIPs had quickly emptied out of the control/party room when Eggsy barged in and fired off several rounds from a machine gun. No one tried to stop him, not even that fuckin' wanker Charlie Hesketh, as they had all been stripped of their weapons upon landing.

Roxy told him afterwards that she and Harry tried to get to him to help out with Gazelle and Valentine but it was chaos outside Valentine's control center. Apparently Princess Tilde had led the charge, releasing her peers who had refused to be chipped, and imprisoning those who were trying to escape. They had to be held accountable for their choices. 

Eggsy won. He won the fight, the neurotoxin visibly working its way through Gazelle's bloodstream.

He held up the bottom half of his tie, furious. Harry had chosen that tie for him!

He yanked Gazelle's blade off her leg and stabbed Valentine with all the strength he had left.

 

**+**

 

There was a big showdown back at UK HQ when the dust had settled. Both Merlin and Harry were nominated to fill Arthur's seat and neither of them wanted it. Eventually Merlin won out, as he always does, and a concession was made to allow the new Arthur field duty as necessary. 

Eggsy was instated as Galahad under a unanimous vote; if just one knight had voted 'Nay', Eggsy would have been back at square one. Apparently saving the world was a bigger test than shooting a dog with blanks.

 

**+**

 

Eggsy makes the turn to the now-familiar hidden entrance to the pathway leading to the ski chalet.

As he leans his snowboard on the wooden rack outside the house, the door opens and Harry steps outside with steaming mugs of hot chocolate, topped with Merlin's homemade marshmallows.

"Fuck me, this is amazing," Eggsy says, taking a sip of the wizard's hot chocolate. "Light's fading, bruv, shall we go in?"

"You didn't think I brought you hot chocolate out of the goodness of my heart did you? I'm putting you to work!"

They walk over to where a large branch had fallen, laden with heavy snow, blocking off the driveway and they move it out of the way.

They take their time walking back to the chalet. Eggsy steals glances at Harry, at his handsome profile. He still can't believe how lucky he is. Why no one had nabbed Harry before Eggsy came along he will never understand.

Eggsy swallows.  _Oh well, carpe diem, here goes nuffin'_.

He clears his throat. "Listen Harry, I wasn't exactly plannin' on doin' this today, was gonna wait 'til Sunday, Valentine's Day, even got an obscenely large sign made up n' everyfin, but I don't wanna wait another second."

Harry looks at him, eyes widening in surprise, but says nothing and Eggsy continues.

"We've only been together two years, but I've known since that first day I met you. Wherever you are is home for me 'arry, it has been from the first time I followed you here. I love you so much and I wanna spend the rest of my life with you."

Eggsy gets down on one knee, "Henry Leonard Hart, will you marry me?" 

Before Eggsy can produce the ring Harry tackles him to the ground and they land on a soft pile of snow, just like the first time they met, that fateful day on the slopes when 'Egghead' first followed him home.

"Yes, Gary Eggsy Unwin, I will marry you, but you had better be sure because I'm never letting you go."

Eggsy's laughing, tears streaming down his face. 

The sun had set by now and the betrothed are bathed in the soft, warm glow from the windows of Harry's - their - home.

Eggsy takes out his phone to turn on the torch app for some additional light.

"Had the ring inscribed, bruv, read it!"

"Is it -" Harry hesitates, "It's not more of your... poetry... is it?"

"Oi fuck off 'arry seriously!" Eggsy says indignantly, motioning to take back the ring. "It worked on you, didn't it?" he sniffs.

Harry holds up the ring to read the engraving. 

_To my Knight, my King, my Everything._  

"Wanted to add 'Love, Egghead' but there weren't enough room."

Tears of joy well up in Harry's eyes and he pulls Eggsy in for a deep, lingering kiss.

Eggsy takes the ring and slides it onto Harry's finger. They hold hands as they walk toward the chalet, a beacon in the gathering night. Harry steals glances at his ringed finger, smiles at the tasteful platinum band, embedded with two dark, glittering jewels -

A double black diamond.

 

 

_**Fin** _

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Harry's ski chalet, maybe:  
> 
> 
> I'm pretty much Eggsy in this fic, a goofy-stanced snowboarder who can't do moguls but loves glades. I've never skied before in my life so I hope the skiing references are convincing enough. Also never skied outside of the US so the resort is based off American ski resorts. (Pizza is a universal cafeteria offering, no?) Also it's not that bad out on the slopes, I just had to build some skiing-snowboarding tension ;)
> 
> I love writing Harry. You can make him do or say (or own - Moroccan argan oil lotion for wanking in the shower, anyone?) the most ridiculous things, Colin Firth's hotness will make everything OK.
> 
> My [tumblr](http://thorins-arkenstone.tumblr.com).


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